


just to break my own fall

by Directionless_Foray



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Character Study, Lewis is The Supermodel, Lewis lives a life of luxury and we love that for him, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, angsty and cracky and fluffy all at the same time, gratuitous skincare and fashion references, hijacked the concept of the Pirelli calendar, seb is so painfully seb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22904530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Directionless_Foray/pseuds/Directionless_Foray
Summary: The Pirelli calendar is hardly the pinnacle of Lewis' storied career in fashion.Not by a long shot.That would obviously go to something more befitting like landing covers on the September issue of all twenty-two editions of Vogue.Closing Versace’s anniversary collection with Naomi Campbell on one arm and Helena Christensen on the other.Being handpicked by Karl Lagerfeld to be the face of Chanel beauty.And the like.Essentially-Essentially, the Pirelli calendar is just a thing on the side and a favour to a beloved friend and talented photographer.(Supermodel!Lewis au)
Relationships: Lewis Hamilton/Sebastian Vettel
Comments: 26
Kudos: 152





	just to break my own fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babypapaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babypapaya/gifts).

> For Jenna quite simply because she is the best.
> 
> I've been meaning to write Seb/Lewis for ages but I just never had the perfect premise or au. Behold this one. I think this one kind of works? Maybe? 
> 
> Hopefully?
> 
> I have taken so many liberties with elements of this. Please bear with me. 
> 
> Title from 'Fidelity' by Regina Spektor

The Pirelli calendar is hardly the pinnacle of Lewis' storied career in fashion.

Not by a _long shot. _

That would obviously go to something more befitting like landing covers on the September issue of all twenty-two editions of Vogue.

Closing Versace’s anniversary collection with Naomi Campbell on one arm and Helena Christensen on the other.

Being handpicked by Karl Lagerfeld to be the face of Chanel beauty.

And the like.

Essentially-

Essentially, the Pirelli calendar is just a thing on the side and a favour to a beloved friend and talented photographer.

-

He only finds out that he'll be shot alongside a host of Formula One drivers two days before he flies out to Monaco. Some sort of _cross-promotional goldmine_ and other buzzwords his agent relays excitedly to him as he drinks his hot water with lemon. 

Lewis is unbothered.

It doesn't change much for him.

He slathers on some more Crème de la Mer and makes a mental note to book in an extra session with his personal trainer before he flies out.

Milan is only a few weeks away after all.

He sighs.

-

Lewis has never met a single Formula One driver. Has never watched a single race.

Doesn't know the sport.

Doesn’t even really know anything about cars outside of pointing to whichever model he wants in a Ferrari showroom and asking _what other colours does this come in?_

He’s half expecting a cheerful roster of assholes with a side of machismo which is always a _joy. _

Toto assures him that he's worked with them before and that they're mostly lovely and consummate professionals.

It most certainly _does not_ escape Lewis' notice that Toto only vouches for _most_ of them.

Also.

Toto is voluntarily friends with Lewis.

Which-

Which obviously speaks volumes about the level of bitchiness he's willing to endure.

Call him a hypocrite but Lewis' bullshit tolerance is much lower.

-

He arrives over an hour early because whilst you can theoretically be both a _bitch _and an _icon,_ Lewis finds it's easier on his conscience to be an icon and a _decent human being._

It helps him sleep at night if he's not being constantly bitched about behind his back.

It's a real shame that getting older in this industry has meant that Lewis simultaneously cares less about everyone else's opinion whilst also _caring so much more_.

Sure he's only twenty-six but some days he feels _ancient_.

Maybe that's the consequence of packing so much magnificence into such a short period of time.

The penance of brilliance. 

So many people like to excitedly tell him that he's only at the _beginning_ of his career. 

  
Some days the mere _sound_ of that is physically _exhausting_.

He sighs.

Finds he's been doing a lot of that.

Lewis looks around the studio. It seems like none of the drivers are here yet and Lewis is not at all surprised.

Celebrities don't tend to take shit like this seriously.

He absentmindedly shoves his hand into his mini Alexander Wang Rocco duffle to retrieve the little tub of By Terry lip balm that's always rolling around at the bottom.

Lewis unscrews the rose-gold lid and spies Toto setting up his tripod. He gravitates over to him.

He asks Toto if he wants to discuss concepts and styling options as he smooths the rose-scented balm over his lips.

He checks his watch.

If the first driver doesn't get here early he might even be able to sneak in a sheet mask before he goes into makeup.

Lewis career is built on his being flawless.

Or at least.

_Looking_ that way.

He always travels with at least two or three different face masks in his bag which target different skin concerns. He pulls out one of his favourite Shiseido ones and hands the shiny gold foil sachet to a junior assistant to pop into a fridge for a few minutes.

As an afterthought, he pulls out a packet of the 24k gold and collagen eye masks and passes it to the assistant as well.

_Just in case._

Never let it be said that Lewis doesn't take his job seriously.

-

January in the calendar belongs to a Daniel who immediately bounds up to Lewis with a bright grin on his face.

Even from a distance, Lewis can see that he's wearing socks with dancing pineapples on them.

Lewis arches an unimpressed brow as a make-up artist sweeps a subtle wash of bronzer over his cheeks. 

“You’re like _crazy_ hot,” Daniel informs him point blank and Lewis snorts.

He clasps a hand to his mouth but Daniel is laughing too.

“No seriously,” he insists, “so many of my mates are fans. Buy your magazines and everything.”

“Thanks,” Lewis smiles with a bit more warmth.

He hears stuff like that fairly regularly but for some reason, coming from Daniel? It feels much more genuine.

“That means a lot.”

Later, his make-up artist whispers a conspiratorial (and _pointed_) "he's super cute, Lewis!"

Lewis rolls his eyes a little as he tilts his face up to capture the spray of his Caudalie face mist. "Anyone can be _cute_ when they earn that much money, Emma," he dismisses.

She huffs but Lewis winks to let her know that he means it kindly.

Toto waves him over to where the shoot is finally set up.

Daniel is grinning. He's sat on an ornate armchair with his legs splayed wide open.

Lewis would roll his eyes if it weren't for the fact that Daniel is indeed a gorgeous thing of a man.

Men that gorgeous and charismatic can afford to be just slightly obnoxious about it. Especially when they manage to do it as delightfully as Daniel does. 

As it stands, Lewis just sighs a little and tucks his face mist back into his bag and floats over.

Toto raises his head from behind the lens and instructs Lewis to arrange himself in Daniel's lap like they discussed and for one brief, gratifying, second, Daniel looks out of his element.

Lewis just rests a cool hand on his shoulder to reassure him.

He can's resist adding a teasing.

"Relax, you're in safe hands."

Daniel's grin is dirty and easy and_ appreciative. _

Lewis privately _preens._

-

February is entrusted to a tiny little chattering thing that apparently goes by the name of _Lando_.

Lewis didn't quite catch his name the first time around.

He's too distracted by how the kid looks completely and unironically _twelve. _

And the kid-

_Lando_ is too busy gushing about Lewis and how much he loves his work and how he _doesn't know anything about fashion_ which-

He's wearing _Plein._

Lewis is not at all surprised that Lando self-proclaims to not know anything about fashion.

Lewis' skin doesn't touch man-made fibers or _clothes _(if they can even be called that) stitched together by tasteless clowns.

Nonetheless, Lewis can't help his little smile when Lando asks a million questions about Lewis' skincare, his career, his philanthropy work, his _dogs_.

His smile widens when Lando extends those questions to Toto and the members of staff milling around.

Asking questions about the lighting set up, what camera Toto is using and just infusing his entire existence with endearing enthusiasm.

It reminds Lewis painfully of himself at the start of his career.

When he was just so happy to even be there.

When he just wanted to be seen and appreciated and _beautiful._

When he had to beg photographers to help him build a respectable portfolio.

When every fashion week felt like a fever dream.

A fantasy.

He shakes his head a little and dutifully leans back against the rich wallpapered walls as Lando lays down next to him. Head pooling in Lewis' lap.

Lewis' hands instinctively go to tangle in the mop of unruly curls and the smile that tugs at his lips is almost entirely involuntary.

The sound of the camera shutters is as familiar as ever. Lewis doesn't even register it. 

Or maybe Toto is just _that good_.

Maybe a combination of the two.

As Lando is leaving, Lewis hands him the card to his favourite facialist in London and tells him to ask for Ana.

And to mention Lewis when making a booking.

Lando's eyes light up and he thanks Lewis breathlessly.

Lewis lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Lando thanks him again and Lewis tries not to flush. 

If only eighteen-year-old Lewis could see himself now, he thinks with a wry smile.

-

The March shot is heralded by a man called Kimi shuffling into the studio just as Lewis finishes drinking the last of his green juice.

The man has just stepped through the door and already looks ready to leave.

Lewis sympathises completely.

Lewis doesn't really want to be here either.

That said, Lewis disinterest slowly morphs into amusement though as Kimi vetoes the first six ideas Toto pits forward.

Lewis is_ this close_ to openly laughing. 

Toto gives Lewis a dark look that says he knows exactly what Lewis is thinking but Lewis just smiles innocently and spritzes himself again with his Diana Vreeland perfume.

_Simply Divine._

As is only fitting.

Kimi vetoes yet another idea. 

Lewis' phone buzzes. His agent asks how the shoot is going.

-

April belongs to an infuriatingly attractive blonde by the name of Nico.

Lewis has a headache even before he is properly introduced to the tall, smirking man. 

Toto had snorted into his coffee when he read the name off the call list and Lewis thinks that karma must work much faster than he previously thought.

Nico _call-me-Hulk_ is awful.

Absolutely insufferable.

So indisputably easy on the eyes and yet so incredibly difficult in every other fucking way.

Lewis so badly wants to tell him to just _fuck off_ but he's gorgeous and efficient and Nico is gone in less than two hours.

Lewis breathes in and out through his nose and tries to remember his meditations.

He's done the whole _yelling and screaming on set_ at beautifully cold men before.  
  


The _smashing up expensive camera equipment_ and _dramatically slamming doors_ too.

Flying across the globe only to get his heart broken and then stomping unhappily up and down runways for the next few months whilst waiting in hotel rooms for a call he would never get.

Lewis has spent _years_ subsisting on little more than salads with the dressing on the side and the addictive corrosiveness of his own unhappiness.

He was younger then.

He doesn't have the energy for that anymore. Can't stomach the poison anymore. 

He doesn't do that shit anymore.

Now he prefers sunshine and grass beneath his bare feet and long lazy lunches with his family whilst his dogs sleep under the long table. 

It's taken him years but now he knows that there's a choice. 

That there are better ways to deal with people who don't love him without having to punish himself along the way.

That he can _choose_ his own happiness. 

It's taken him a lot of hurting and heartbreak to realise that he didn't have to stay in that unhappy place forever.

That he deserved- _deserves_ better.

Lewis reaches for his phone and opens his meditation app.

Toto calls for a lunch break and Lewis slips out of the room to find a quiet corner to practice is meditations and breathing exercises.

-

By the time they shoot for May, Lewis kind of just wants to go home.

He misses his apartment in New York, his local cafe, his elderly neighbour who shares her freshly grown chillies with Lewis in exchange for sprigs of his basil and mint.

And he misses his _dogs._

Especially his dogs.

Also his walk-in closet.

Lewis hates living out of a suitcase.

He always inevitably remembers a fantastic vintage Dior Homme shirt or a pair of metallic Gucci boots that he forgot to bring with him.

He could always swing by the nearest Gucci boutique and purchase another pair but he's actively trying to not be too much of a stereotypical fashion-industry-asshole.

His mother always assures him that he could never be an asshole but she hasn't seen his credit card bills.

Anyway.

Lewis ready to go home to his apartment. His dogs. His wardrobe. His fully stocked vanity.

Just-

Away from this.

And sure-

Carlos seems nice enough.

Only he's really fucking attractive and it's just comically bad timing.

Bad timing because it's a little bit upsetting in Lewis’ fragile state.

Because Lewis is tired and emotionally drained and suddenly there's a beautiful Spanish man with thick eyelashes, full lips, and flawless skin who probably doesn't even know what a face roller is. 

It's just not very fair.

It's as if the universe is laughing at all the effort Lewis painstakingly puts into this lifelong performance of perfection. 

But Lewis is a consummate professional.

Not to mention, Lewis knows it's not Carlos' fault that he's so infuriatingly beautiful with a flawless complexion.

It’s not his fault that the gods were not only smiling in him when he was born but were also probably doing some dodgy backroom deals if his non-existent pores are anything to go by. 

Nonetheless, he can't resist asking Carlos what moisturiser he uses. Whether he uses one with SPF.

Carlos frowns and says he just uses a tube of whatever is lying around his apartment.

He can't even recall the name of the brand.

Lewis thinks he's going to scream.

-

A day later they're shooting for June and Lewis wants to take back every shallow complaint he had about Carlos.

Because-

_Because-_

Because, _Fernando_ takes one look at Lewis and loudly asks if there's only one model to shoot with.

Lewis is a proud vegan and pacifist but he's having an incredibly trying week and he's also surrounded by conveniently placed heavy lighting equipment. 

He also hasn't had coffee in a month and he has a sneaking suspicion that he's in the throes of an existential crisis too to boot. 

Suffice it to say.

The urge to pick up a stray tripod and hurl it at Fernando's head is-

Let's just say-

_Overwhelming._

He takes a deep breath.

The universe is testing him.

Lewis takes another deep breath for good measure. 

Dr. Barbara Sturm told him to limit any unnecessary negative energy because it would all eventually show in his skin.

Also to stop frowning.

Sometimes Lewis wants to tell her that whilst he may be the most celebrated supermodel of his generation but he's only _human._

He's only _human._

Sometimes he's going to eat salt and vinegar chips and drink too much red wine and forget to exfoliate and sometimes he's going to wish bloody murder on another human being when pushed. 

He's only _human. _

Generally, he tries to compensate for that by buying whatever fancy new overpriced serum Barbara releases and letting Joanna Czech slap his tired-looking skin back into liveliness whenever he's back in New York. 

Luckily Lewis doesn't end up inflicting any bodily harm on Fernando.

It's a close thing though.

-

The rest of the week pretty much goes more or less the same.

Lewis meets a polite media-trained athlete, shakes their hand, and drapes himself on or around their general vicinity and Toto snaps some gorgeous ambiguously sexual photos.

They start to blur into each other.

Lewis finds it funny how-

How everyone he meets always thinks they're going to stun him with their attractiveness or something.

He's a _supermodel_.

His life revolves around being surrounded by beauty and perfection.

In different locations across the globe. In varying states of dress or semi-undress. In front of a camera or slinking down a runway.

Lewis only knows a life of beauty and perfection. 

He _is_ the beauty and the perfection.

So he's hardly going to be impressed by yet another a rich man with an expensive haircut who doesn't pay income tax.

It's cute that they try though. 

Emma keeps trying to subtly suggest that he give one of them his number but Lewis doesn't know how to tell her how much he really doesn't want to do that.

-

By the time the shoot for December rolls by Lewis is mostly tired.

He'd kill for a dirty soy-chai right about now but Milan is a week away and he's trying to cut back on caffeine.

He's walking at least two shows almost every day and the last thing he wants to worry about is a breakout or messing up his sleep schedule.

He just wants to finish this shoot and go home.

Scrape off every last smudge of makeup on his face. Scream for a few minutes into his empty apartment until one of his neighbours gathers the courage to knock on his door and asks if he's okay. Call his mother and cry about nothing for an hour or so.

Make and devour a disgustingly unhealthy toasted vegan cheese sandwich with too much hot sauce.

Take the longest bath known to man. 

Cover his body in his luxury, Jasmine scented Rodin body oil.

Slather his face in his thickest and most expensive face cream.

Maybe watch a nature documentary and then fall asleep on his couch in a cashmere hoodie.

His dogs are at his mother's place and he won't see them until after Milan fashion week and Lewis is trying so hard not to fall back into that place where he feels tired of his day-to-day life.

His very existence-

There's a rustling and when Lewis looks up there's a man hurrying into the studio and apologising profusely as he shrugs out of a large coat.

Lewis presumes he's the elusive final driver.

He looks up at just the right moment to lock eyes with Lewis across the room.

Lewis doesn't even know if he knows who Lewis is but he smiles apologetically nonetheless and ducks his head.

_He looks kind. _

Something tired and long-dormant in Lewis' chest unfurls. 

_He has blue eyes. _

Warmth floods Lewis' chest. 

-

Sebastian is a World Champion and Lewis knows that’s meant to _mean something_ just like how Lewis is a Supermodel and that’s meant to _mean something_ too.

Honestly, he just looks like some guy they pulled off the street.

Then and again.

Lewis’ streets tend to be crowded with willowy chain-smoking off duty models, street style photographers crowding the foot walk and spilling onto the road, and faceless security details ushering him to limousines with dark tinted windows.

Sebastian just looks so _normal_.

He looks like he wandered off of the corner of one of Lewis' childhood streets, weaving out of a park with an uneven grassy pitch, and somehow found himself in this building at this exact moment.

He looks at Lewis and smiles. Warm and genuine.

He looks like _any other guy_ and completely unlike anyone Lewis has ever seen.

He smiles at Lewis. Warm and genuine.

And _lingering_.

The collar of his white shirt is slightly wrinkled and his eyelashes are gold in the light.

Lewis swallows.

-

Toto coughs.

-

Sebastian politely asks if Lewis minds after Toto instructs him to place his arm around Lewis’ waist.

Lewis doesn’t know how to tell him that he really doesn’t have to ask.

Something tells Lewis that he doesn't do many photoshoots.

It’s sweet though.

Unexpected too.

It makes Lewis stop for a second before he responds.

Lewis is a model. A lot of people think that makes him furniture. Pretty furniture but still, furniture. 

An object.

Lewis is The Supermodel and still, people sometimes forget to ask his opinion.

Forget that he is in _possession_ of an opinion.

Sebastian doesn't though.

He treats Lewis like a person who deserves respect and worship in equal parts.

Lewis has only really known him for an hour and Lewis knows with a quiet resignation that he's already dangerously addicted to this feeling.

To Sebastian. 

Lewis wants to know what Sebastian's hands would feel like on his skin without any fabric in the way.

He debates with himself for a few minutes before making a mental note to ask his agent if she knows if Sebastian is single.

Somehow he has a feeling that the universe is _just cruel enough_ to tease him with this just as he's at the end of his proverbial rope only to tear him away from Lewis at the last second.

He doesn't hold out much hope.

He has to know though.

During a break, he types up a draft on his notes app of the humiliating text he has resigned himself to sending his agent when he goes home after the shoot. 

-

The sky outside is orange. Burnt umber spilling across a peachy hued canvas.

Lewis feels so calm and so happy with his legs splayed over Sebastian's.

A make-up artist touches up his subtle highlight with a deft hand and applies another coat of clear mascara to his lashes.

Lewis sits through it all with a practiced stillness.

Sebastian observes it all, face only inches away from Lewis', with an amused smile on his face.

Polite and curious as anything.

Lewis has a feeling that Sebastian probably considers an acceptable skincare regime to be washing his face with cold soapy water and only moisturises when he remembers.

Which is to say.

Rarely.

It should make Lewis scrunch his nose in distaste but instead-

Instead it only serves to further endear him to Lewis.

He doesn't need anyone to tell him that he's in too deep. He's fully aware of the direness of the situation.

Plus Toto has been throwing him little knowing smirks all day.

The sun is setting and Lewis knows they got all the shots they needed almost two hours ago but he has no desire to leave.

Then and again, Sebastian-

(World champion, Ferrari driver, blue-eyed, golden lashed, perpetually good-humored, inhumanely gentle)

-Sebastian hasn't made any move to hurry them up either.

The make-up artist narrows her eyes and surveys her handiwork before nodding and absentmindedly dragging her large fluffy brush down the bridge of Lewis' nose one last time. She collects her brushes and powders and whatnot and moves out of frame.

Lewis turns and Sebastian is already looking at him.

Soft gentle smile still tugging at his lips.

Lewis opens his mouth but can’t find the words.

Can't find a single one.

Sebastian smiles-

Hasn't really stopped smiling since he walked over to Lewis and introduced himself and proceeded to turn Lewis' loose plans for the most _unremarkable_ remarkable life upside down.

Sebastian smiles and Lewis imagines he could stay here, locked in this breathless freefall, forever.

-

Lewis reaches out to smooth that dastardly collar once and for all.

Sebastian watches him silently. Eyes burning.

Lewis' fingers still.

A shutter clicks.

Their faces are so close that Lewis can see himself reflected in Sebastian's eyes.

Can see himself suspended in a bright cerulean free fall.

-

That year’s calendar breaks a new circulation record and Lewis' agent informs him via text that her phone hasn't stopped ringing for a whole week after the images are published online.

Somewhere else in the world Lewis is holed up in an airy farmhouse with high ceilings and a man with a quiet smile and blue eyes.

They have lunch in the garden and Lewis' dogs fall asleep under the long table as the sunlight turns Seb's eyelashes gold. 

-

Toto texts him a smug _you owe me_ a day after the first photos of Lewis and Seb at a farmer's market surface.

Lewis reluctantly has to concur.

**Author's Note:**

> I love tired jet setting fashion icon Lewis sm. Also It wasn't quite so sad when I first started writing it but I suppose it rarely ever is.


End file.
